If It Please Your Majesty
by Mr Sinister
Summary: Bobby Drake and Emma Frost get ready for their second date (after their first in "Champagne & Ice Pops") - will they still want to go after they get talking? :)


**_If It Please Your Majesty_**

   _Holy cow…_

   That's my first thought as I approach the door to Emma's house – her house in upstate Boston, that is, near the Massachusetts Academy (Emma's invited me up here for some reason. I had to ask Scott to drop me off with the Blackbird, just so I could be on time, rather than three days too late). It's a huge out-of-town residence with a doorstop that probably would have cost me ten years' wages – hell, even the down-payment on the thing probably would have put me out a years' pay. There are ash trees growing along either side of the driveway, and a couple of peacocks are wandering around inside the grounds. Some geese are swimming on the lake over to my right, and I can hear them honking at each other from where I'm standing, which is just outside Emma's front door. Tentatively, I reach out for the old chain which I think will ring the doorbell. Just as I'm about to do so, Emma opens the front door and says "Hello, Bobby."

   That makes me jump out of my skin, and inadvertently ice the chain up, its links becoming even more fragile and delicate. Taking my hand off it gingerly, so as not to snap them, I try to compose myself for a moment or two before I turn my attention to Emma. "Jeez, Emma, did you _have to do that?" I ask in disbelief, before I slap my forehead and wave a hand at her. "Wait. Don't answer that."_

   Emma chuckles and kisses me gently on the lips. "Good to see you too, Drake."

   I scratch the nape of my neck and gesture at the iced-up chain with one hand, a sheepish kind of look coming to my face. "Do you do that to all your visitors?"

   "Of course. It certainly makes first impressions seem that much more _interesting, doesn't it?" Emma shrugs. "Although I did consider opening the door stark naked, just to see your face."_

   I gulp, already feeling beads of sweat forming at the back of my neck. "I'm glad you didn't go through with that; I think I'd have had a heart attack."

   Emma laughs out loud at that, her perfectly-white teeth almost glowing in the afternoon sun. "Oh, don't worry, Robert – I'm sure I'd have coped. I told you before; I _do get that reaction a lot." _

   "Ha, ha, Emma. What do you do for an encore?" I say, sardonically, although I can't say I find that answer too hard to disbelieve. After her little display on our first date, I'm not sure I'll be surprised by anything she does… although if I was asked to put that in writing, I'd be pretty hesitant.

   "If you're lucky, Drake, I might show you," Emma says matter-of-factly, without so much as a note of laughter to tell me that she's joking (the smile on her face tells me more than that in an instant, though). She takes my hand and leads me inside the house, pointing me in the direction of a coat-stand with her free arm. "Put your jacket there – I'll get one of the staff to tidy it up later." She takes me into what I think is the drawing room, and takes out a decanter full of whiskey and two glasses from a small cabinet in the corner, next to the fireplace. She drops a couple of ice cubes into one of the glasses and pours out a generous measure of golden-brown liquid before offering it to me. "Something to loosen you up, Drake," she suggests. "I can feel your shoulders knotting from here." Not knowing what else to do, I take the glass and sip a small amount of the potent whiskey. Almost instantly, the warmth of the alcohol hits the back of my throat, and I have to struggle to catch my breath for a moment or two, my eyes watering against my will.

   Emma laughs, before gulping some of her own drink. "Oh, my. Is it that good?"

   "This coke's gone bad," I wheeze, blinking hard to steady my vision. "Can I have some more?"

   Emma raises a meticulously-sculpted eyebrow. "This is very expensive whiskey, Drake. I wouldn't want to use any more of it than I had to, but if you insist…" She removes the stopper from the decanter and tops up my glass again, before raising her own glass in a toast. "To making you a grown-up."

   "To getting you to wear something other than white leather," I shoot back, before I realise something incredibly important. "Wait a second… that'd be a bad thing. Scratch that. To… uh… to having a good time tonight."

   "Nice recovery," Emma comments in a deadpan tone, sipping some more whiskey. "Still unable to pull your feet out of your mouth, I see." She pauses, walking over to the table in the centre of the room, and fishing out two tickets. "I hope you won't be so keen to make a fool of yourself this evening."

   "Why? What are we going to see?" I pause. "I suppose it's too much to hope that we're going to watch Motorhead?"

   Emma almost shudders. I'm guessing she's not a fan of that kind of music… "I'm… afraid not, Bobby. These are two tickets for _Death Of A Salesman – I have a booth reserved in the theatre for this evening, and I was hoping that you'd come with me."_

   "Aw, and here I was hoping to see you dressed as a rock chick," I tease her gently. "I think you'd look _really hot in a spiked black collar, leather pants and a Def Leppard T-shirt."_

   Emma sighs. "And you would have gotten me to wear that… how, exactly?"

   "Through persistence, hard work, and the fact that you can't resist my boyish charms?"

   "Nice try, Bobby." Emma smiles thinly, and finishes off her whiskey in an economical last mouthful. "You'd have to be a _lot more charming for me to even __consider wearing something like that, I'm afraid." She pauses thoughtfully, tapping her cheek with a fingertip. "Actually, now you come to mention it, I think I have a choker like that somewhere upstairs. Maybe if you're a good boy tonight, I'll let you wear it."_

   I raise an eyebrow. "Well, _gee, Emma, with an offer like that, how can I refuse?" In response, Emma moves towards me, puts her hands on my hips and kisses me softly on the mouth, her nimble tongue sliding between my parted lips and teeth and duelling gently with mine. While she has me suitably… __distracted, her hand slips around to my back pocket and pulls out the recall unit that Scott gave me, so that he could come and get me again. Breaking the kiss, Emma waves the small, black plastic box in front of my nose like a trophy, the red button on the front of it winking on and off in an almost taunting kind of way. She dodges me when I make a grab for it and wags her finger at me disparagingly._

   "Well, if you do, you'll never go home," she laughs, dropping the small box into her purse and snapping it shut with a click. "Besides, I think it'd look good on you – the waiters at the Hellfire Club used to wear them all the time, and they never complained." 

   I grin at Emma's amusement – although with a little nervousness _just creeping in at the edges. "You were in the Hellfire Club for too long, Emma. It's warped your perceptions."_

   Emma rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. I didn't need the Hellfire Club to teach me that men are quite possibly the stupidest animals on this Earth." She pauses, and taps her finger on the end of my nose, her smile returning with all its polished brightness. "I didn't need the Club to tell me what I like to see men wear, either. And believe me when I say you _would look good in that choker, Bobby Drake. All you need is an incentive to try it on, and this is that incentive." She toasts me with her empty glass again. "Here's to expanding your perceptions, darling."_

   "I guess…" I finish the last of my drink and then continue, uncertainly "You… _will give that back when we're done, won't you?" _

   Emma taps her cheek with a fingertip and blows me a kiss. "I'll think about it." 

   I sigh. "Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better."

   "Good. At least with that element of doubt you'll have a better chance of being surprised," Emma purrs. Ignoring my protests, she ushers me upstairs into another room, where a tuxedo fitted in my size is hanging from a rack in the corner. "Now come on – you have to get ready. I doubt the theatre will be very pleased if you show up in what you're wearing now, after all…"

   She has a point, I guess – I always used to catch hell from the others for wearing my Black Sabbath t-shirt, jeans and sneakers to the theatres in the Village. Wearing the old shirt and battered cargo pants that I've got on now would probably not go down well in one of Boston's most expensive theatres…

   _Which is why I'm going to make you change, Emma says flatly. __When they say 'black tie', they mean 'black tie and a suit', not 'black tie over a heavy metal shirt'._

   "Couldn't they make an exception just this once?" I plead. "I hate wearing suits – makes me feel like I'm going to a funeral or something."

   "If you don't change, you will be," Emma says shortly. "I paid a good deal of money for those seats, and I'd hate to have to forfeit them because you weren't willing to wear that tuxedo – which, oddly enough, I also paid a great deal of money for."

   I hold my hands up in defeat. "Okay, okay, I get the point. So where do you want me to start?"

   Emma smiles, and touches my cheek with her hand. "Good boy. Maybe there's hope for you after all."

   "Yeah, well, don't expect me to do this for you every time we go out," I tell her. "And you have to return the favour sometime, too."

   Emma lets loose a tinkle of laughter, and then purses her lips ever so slightly. "Of course. Just don't expect me to become a… a 'rock chick'… overnight. I _do have standards, you know."_

   "So I noticed," I tell her, as I pull on the pants of the suit and sling the jacket around my shoulders. "Don't worry – I'll start you off small. I don't think either of us could handle much else." I pause, giving her figure a quick glance-over so as to assess just what would be the best thing for her to wear. "You know what? I think you'd look cute in one of my Van Halen t-shirts. You think you could handle that?"

   "We'll see, Drake," Emma says, her eyebrows raised. "Don't get your hopes up _too high."_

   "Never do – with my record, I have to take what I can get," I tell her as I finish fastening the bow tie that was included with the tux's dress shirt, and then I walk over to kiss her on the cheek. "So how do I look?"

   "Well, give me a twirl, and I'll tell you," Emma says, stepping back a pace and putting a finger to her cheek as she prepares to make her judgement. Feeling just a little self-conscious, I turn around slowly, so that she can get a good view of everything. When I have done a complete three-hundred-sixty degrees, I look towards Emma – who is smiling enigmatically at this point. "Oh, you looked better than good, Bobby," she says, her smile widening into an appreciative grin. "Jubilee was right about your behind, you know."

   "That's… a good thing, right?" I ask, tentatively. Emma laughs, steps forwards to take my hands, and then leans in close to me so that she can speak directly in my ear.

   "It's a _very good thing," she tells me, folding my arms around her as she does so. "Now you have to do the same for me. Let me get changed, and you can make your own judgement. Does that sound fair to you?"_

   "Well, Emma… I'd settle for you going just as you are now, if you want me to be honest," I say, truthfully. Emma smiles at me and shakes her head, gesturing at the simple trouser suit she has on with one hand and tapping me reproachfully on the nose with the other.

   "Sorry, Bobby, but I really do _have to dress up for the evening, or my wardrobe doesn't get any exercise. And when that happens, I don't hear the end of it."_

   That makes me laugh out loud. "You know, I don't actually find that hard to believe."

   "Good," Emma replies. "Or I'd have had to change your mind so that you did." Then, disengaging herself from my arms, she moves gracefully over to the wardrobe and takes out a pristine white ball gown and elegant diamond-studded tiara. Turning away from me, she takes off her jacket, throwing it on the bed, and then begins to unzip her pants.

   "I… think I'd better go," I say, making a move for the door. "I don't want to get in your way."

   Emma laughs, and fluffs her hair out with both hands before looking over her shoulder at me, her blue eyes smouldering. "You can stay if you want to, Bobby – I _did watch __you change, after all. Fair's fair, don't you think?"_

   "I guess…" I say, my voice little more than an embarrassed croak, and a hot flush making its way steadily to my hairline, my skin prickling crimson all the way up. "Look, I really think I should let you change by yourself." 

   Emma chuckles. "All right, Bobby. Go and wait for me downstairs and I'll be with you as soon as I'm changed." She blows a kiss at me, and as I turn to leave, she says _You__ know, you do look very__ cute when you blush, Bobby. I should embarrass you more often…_

_   I'm sure you will, I shoot back at her. __I'll just be downstairs. Don't take too long, or I might leave without you…_

_   I highly doubt you'll do that. You can't get enough of me, Emma says, in a deadpan tone.__ Oh yes… in case you want to keep yourself occupied, there's a Playstation in the drawing room. She obviously can sense my reply before it emerges, and continues __And no, Bobby, I don't use it. I sometimes take it down to the Academy for the students when they've been particularly good. She laughs, the telepathic sensation like buttery raindrops.__ I think it might just suit you, don't you think?_

_   Sure – if you've got Grand Theft Auto, you can keep me occupied for hours, I tell her cheerfully. _

   _I think I can think of other ways to keep you occupied, Bobby – but that's beside the point, Emma tells me with a seductive murmur in her tone. __Just go into the drawing room, and you'll find everything you need to set that thing up – and it's the first door on the left, before you ask._

_   Thanks, Emma, I send to her before I wander into the cavernous drawing room, my dress shoes squeaking on the boards that make up the floor. A decorative Eastern rug is spread out in the middle of the floor, between the so-expensive-I-don't-think-I-should-sit-on-them chairs and the glass coffee table. In a box to one side is a small TV, and in a similar box alongside it is a Playstation console and a selection of game CDs. Removing the TV and the console from the box, it doesn't take me long to connect up all the wires and sockets and slide a game into the console's slot. "Here's hoping I don't have to do this for long… knowing Emma, she'll probably take forever just to do her eye shadow…" I mutter, as I flip past the game's start screen._

   _I heard that, Robert Drake, Emma says suddenly, her psychic tone sharp and indignant.__ I will not__ take forever to do my eye shadow!_

_   Oh, you will, Emma, and you know it. I think it's like a law or something…_

_   Ha, ha, Emma says, in a clipped kind of way.__ You know, I might just make you wait anyway. I know you can't wait to kiss my feet and apologise, so making you wait seems like the best punishment I can think of._

_   Suits me, babe, I tell her lightly. __I got Gran Turismo and a comfy chair – I'm not seeing any bad side here. When I don't get any reply, I'm almost tempted to laugh out loud. "Drake," I say, "you'd better savour this moment. It'll probably never come again…" Picking up the game controller again, I press the pause button to get my game running once more, and try to get my attention focused on something other than Emma's activities upstairs._

   It takes about twenty minutes for her to finish up getting ready, and I'm alerted to the fact that she wants me to get up and meet her by a quick telepathic message, telling me to come to the main staircase as quickly as I can. When I do so, I'm greeted by her walking slowly down the stairs, clad in her gown, a fur draped over her shoulders and her tiara set daintily on carefully pinned up hair. Her lips are painted a subtle shade of crimson, and she has two-inch heels on her elegant shoes, which are clearly visible below the gown's low hemline. In her hands she holds a small, white leather purse, its thin strap looped over her right shoulder.

   "You look… wonderful, Emma," I say, almost lost for words. 

   Emma smiles triumphantly. "Of course I do," she says, quite seriously. "_Now do you see why you had to wait?"_

   "I guess so," I say, wryly. Then, I offer her my hand so as to help her down the stairs, and she accepts it graciously, her gloved hand gripping my fingers tightly. "So are we going to head off now, or what?"

   "I can't see any reason why not," Emma replies, thoughtfully. "That is, unless you really _want to keep playing your game here?"_

   I laugh at that, and hold my hands up so as to make them out to be the two sides of a scale. "Hmm. Let's see: a date with you versus an evening with a bunch of moving pixels. Gee, it's a tough one, Emma… I might need some time to decide." Without hesitating, I offer Emma my arm, and nod towards the door. "Come on, gorgeous – let's get going. We'll be late."

   Emma threads her hand through my extended arm and kisses me on the cheek. "You know, Bobby, calling me 'gorgeous' again might just be the best thing you do all night."

   "Nah," I say, matter-of-factly. "I'm beyond saving, gorgeous. Better take me as I am, or not at all." Then, I lead her out to the waiting limousine in front of the house, and, before the chauffeur (who I recognise as Lawrence, the unfortunate tardy guy from our first date) can get out of his seat, I have already opened the door for Emma and watched her slide inside delicately. I follow her inside and take the seat next to her. "_Aye carumba," I whisper, as I take in the interior of the limo – there is a TV screen directly in front of us, a stereo system to either side of the seats, which is piping soft violin music through to us, and an ice bucket filled with champagne which I couldn't afford – not even if I saved for two hundred years straight._

   Emma notices my awe, and squeezes my hand encouragingly. "Oh, don't worry, Bobby; I'm sure you'll be able to afford your own limousine when you grow up." She ignores my attempt at a comeback and sits forward in her seat, taking the two chilled wine glasses from the ice bucket and offering me one. "Champagne? You'll need it if you're going to enjoy Arthur Miller, after all…"


End file.
